Savage Surrender

by Natasha Peters

  She patted my hand. "We is in this together, Missy, but I sure wish we was someplace else."

  I stood at the window, watching the setting sun casting its fiery gleam on the shimmering water. Why did he have to be so close? Highlands. I liked the name. Just up the river, just out of reach. Five miles? Ten? It might as well have been a thousand. We were separated forever now, by barriers more insurmountable than distance.

  Dinner that night was a dreary affair, and an accurate sample of things to come. We all assembled in the drawing room at seven-thirty for sherry. We ladies were rationed to one small glass, but I suspected that Madame Fournier and her sisters had already fortified themselves before they came down. Uncle Robert had the perpetual glow of spirits on his nose and his flushed cheeks, and I was sure that he had whetted his appetite with whiskey before joining us

  When James, the butler, announced dinner, Jacques immediately took his mother's arm and led the way to the dining room. Uncle Robert would have taken me in, but his wife intercepted him before he got to me and I was left to bring up the rear with Aunt Henriette and Colette. I was furious with Jacques for attending to his mother rather than to me. As his wife I was now mistress of La Rêve, not she, and I would insist on being treated deferentially.

  Conversation at the table was hardly scintillating: Uncle Robert droned on and on about the war with the British and the hardships it was bringing; Aunt Celine complained about the food, Aunt Henriette about her gout. Colette giggled occasionally and was reproved sternly by her mother. Jacques sat at the head of the table, looking truly handsome and poetic in evening dress, but his stilted speech and stiff manner betrayed his discomfort. If I had hoped that he might feel more at ease with his family than he was in New Orleans, I was disappointed.

  We plodded from course to course. I drank more than my share of wine—I had a friend in James, who kept my glass filled—and the aunts' eyebrows rose and fell each time I raised or lowered my glass. I didn't care: even with my wits dulled by wine I found their company unbelievably boring.

  "Elise," said Jacques during a lull, "why don't you tell Maman about the Chateau Lesconflair. I am sure she would be very interested."

  "Oh, yes, do, Elise," said Colette, bouncing in her chair.

  "It's very large and falling apart," I said. "Uncle Theo never had enough money to keep it up, and when my brother's gambling debts made us paupers overnight, Uncle decided to sell off some of our more precious possessions."

  Someone coughed. Maman lifted her water goblet to her lips. "How—ah—interesting."

  "No, it wasn't very interesting," I said flatly. "The first thing to go was me. Uncle Theo sold me to a fat baron. Think of it, Jacques, you've married a would-be-baroness. Isn't it thrilling?"

  Colette giggled. Frowning at her, Maman rose abruptly. "Perhaps the gentlemen will excuse us." She nodded to her daughter and her sisters, who obediently followed her example. Jacques and Uncle Robert were on their feet, too. I remained stubbornly in my seat, clinging to my wine glass. "Aren't you coming, Elise?" Maman asked. "Jacques and Robert will join us for coffee in the drawing room after they have had their port."

  Jacques was imploring me silently to cooperate. His eyes were suspiciously bright, and I suspected he was close to tears. I decided for his sake not to antagonize them further. I pushed back my chair and followed the other women out of the dining room.

  They addressed not one word to me while we were waiting for Jacques and Robert. Aunt Celine, who had captured Colette and taken her to the opposite corner of the room from me, was talking loudly and incoherently about a niece of theirs who was born an idiot, and who still managed to marry the son of the richest Creole family in New Orleans. Maman toyed with some embroidery. Aunt Henriette complained about the sharp pain in her foot. I yawned profusely into a handkerchief. At last I heard Jacques and Uncle Robert approaching the door.

  Jacques entered first. He cast me a beseeching look, then started across the room to where his mother was sitting on a long couch by herself. I jumped up and threaded my hand through the crook of his arm.

  "Oh, Jacques," I twittered, "we have been having the most enchanting conversation. I love your family!"

  He still insisted on proceeding to his mother's side, and when we were ready to sit I quickly positioned myself on his right so that I would be in the middle, between him and Maman. The heavy silence in our part of the room was happily broken by the arrival of coffee and a tray of sweetmeats. Then Aunt Henriette suggested a game of whist.

  "I'm so tired, my darling," I said to Jacques in a husky voice that everyone else could hear. "Couldn't we go to bed""

  "Yes, of course, Elise," he said quickly. We bade his family a hasty good night. Everyone nodded coldly to me but Colette, who hugged me so tightly that I couldn't breathe and told me in a rushed whisper that she loved me, even if the others did not.

  When Jacques and I were alone in my room he turned on me with a fury I had never seen before.

  "Elise, I am ashamed of you! You behaved abominably towards them, and—"

  "They passed judgment on me before they even set eyes on me," I informed him tartly. "They have behaved rudely to me and have made it clear that I am not welcome at La Rêve. Why, they couldn't even bother to feign politeness for your sake, and you the master of the house! And you have not even tried to take my part, Jacques. How dare you take your mother into dinner and leave me behind with your sister and your aunts! You have hardly spoken a word to me since we came here, and you act like you don't want to look at me. Have I suddenly grown fat and ugly or old? What's the matter with you, Jacques?"

  He said in a tight voice, "Nothing. Nothing is the matter with me. I was merely hurt and surprised that a lady of your breeding would act so brazenly. Why, you practically boasted of being Lafitte's companion."

  I laughed. "And why not? I am not ashamed that I was his mistress. I'm not ashamed of anything I have done. I would like to see the women in your family try boarding an enemy ship. They wouldn't last a minute."

  Bewildered, he shook his head. "I hardly know you, Elise. You're different. You've changed."

  "It is you who have changed, Jacques. Not I. When you were away from them you played the part of the adoring lover to the hilt. You were impulsive, passionate, and eager. Why can't you be proud of me instead of feeling that you have to apologize for me?" His lips tightened. He started to leave. I grabbed his hand and held him back. "Oh, listen to me, Jacques. Can't you see that they want to separate us? We can't let them do that. We have to present a united front. If we help and support each other, we can have a good, strong marriage that nothing, no one can shake. Please, Jacques—"

  He pulled away from me and said brusquely, "I don't know what you're talking about, Elise. They're not trying to do anything of the kind. You don't understand them. And you don't understand me." He went to his room, which adjoined mine, and closed the connecting door.

  I flopped into a chair and sighed deeply. I felt bruised and battered, as if I had been tossing around in the hold of a ship in a storm. Why, oh why—But I must not look back. No regrets, no resentment. I had leaped into a hasty marriage with Jacques and I would make the best of it.

  Much later, when I saw that the crack of light under his door had disappeared, I slipped on a peignoir, dabbed some perfume on my neck and shoulders, and went into his room. I could tell from his breathing that he was not asleep, and I sat on the side of his bed and put my hand lightly on his arm. He flinched slightly.

  "Jacques, don't be angry with me, please," I said. "I—I want us to be happy. We mustn't quarrel like this."

  "I'm sorry, Elise," he mumbled. "I should never have brought you here."

  "Don't talk like that," I said. "I am here and we can be happy together, I know we can. Can't you forget everything else and remember that you love me? Please, Jacques."

  He sat up and put his arms around me. His heart was thumping wildly. We sat for a long time, saying nothing, then I stroked the back of his neck
and kissed him softly, again and again. His body was taut and unresilient, as though he expected me to hurt him.

  "Don't be afraid, Jacques," I said. "Let me—" I slid my hand under his nightshirt and rubbed his thigh lightly. He was so tense that he started to tremble. I persisted, working higher and higher, and suddenly, with a loud sob, he brought his hands up to my chest and pushed me away from him so violently that I almost fell off the bed.

  "Leave me alone," he yelped. "Don't touch me! I—I can't stand it. Don't touch me!" Disgust filled his voice.

  He rolled off the bed and stumbled across the room to the window. He leaned heavily against the panes of glass, drawing in breaths in long, shuddering gasps. I stared at him, too stunned and appalled to speak. Then I got up and went back to my own room. I saw that my hands were shaking, and that tears of shame and humiliation were coursing down my cheeks.

  I had known a lot of men. Many of them had desired me, wanted me. But no man had ever been repulsed by my nearness. Had I gone too fast? Had I been too forward? But I was his wife! What had happened? I did not understand.

  Then I remembered his peculiar, strained manner when he had introduced me to Arnold. I remembered Arnold's strange coldness, his pointed remarks to me, the way he had rudely wished for an heir to La Rêve. I felt cold and weak and I thought I was going to be sick. Arnold. Arnold and Jacques. No, it wasn't possible! It wasn't fair! Perhaps Jacques was just shy—But no. The disgust and revulsion in his voice had been unmistakable. He had loved me from afar, but the prospect of intimacy with me had terrified him. I knew fear when I saw it.

  I laughed weakly. What a joke. What a horrible, hideously funny joke. Our marriage wasn't a marriage at all, would never be a marriage. Oh, Garth, Garth. I remembered his laughter when he learned that Jacques and I were married. Had he known that—No, he couldn't have known. He must never know. I had made a mistake, but I would never give Garth McClelland the satisfaction of admitting it. The marriage would have to go on. I would take my place as mistress of Jacques' plantation. I would carve out a life for myself, a position of prominence in society. I could do all these things, I knew I could. But how was I to still the persistent aching in my loins for a man?

  I assumed command of the house the next day. The lines were drawn and the battle of wills between Maman and me began. It never ceased and often threatened to break into open war, but gradually I gained control of my rightful domain. I planned menus, saw to the training of new house servants, ordered new furnishings for the dining and drawing rooms. One day I asked Jacques to show me how the plantation was run.

  "You wouldn't be interested in that, Elise," he said. "You wouldn't understand it."

  "Then what's the harm in showing me?" I asked him. "You know I'm interested in everything about La Rêve."

  We toured the grounds and the outbuildings, the slave cabins, the fields, the warehouses, the cane sheds and refining houses. Everything seemed neglected and shabby. Jacques explained apologetically that the harvest for the past few years had been poor, and that they didn't have enough slaves to work the estate properly.

  "Then buy more," I said. "Or better yet hire extra men for the cutting and planting seasons only. Surely there are men willing to travel upriver from New Orleans, or down—"

  "Yes, there are laborers for hire," he admitted, "but I can't afford to pay them as much as—as much as some of the other planters around here."

  "You mean Garth?"

  "Yes, Garth. In fact, I've been considering selling off some land to Garth if we can't make the place pay by next year. And I could sell most of the slaves, too, and we could live quite comfortably—"

  "Until the money ran out," I said impatiently. "That's ridiculous, Jacques. Why don't you have a manager, an overseer, someone who can persuade the workers to try harder. Surely you have enough slaves right here."

  "I had a manager," Jacques said defensively. "He went to work for someone who could pay him a better wage."

  "Garth?"

  "Well, yes."

  "Listen to me, Jacques." I faced him. "You must never, never sell to him. You can't let him absorb La Rêve, you can't give in to him without a fight. I know he's vastly wealthy and we're not, but we can do it if we try harder. He's greedy, avaricious, venal. He'll do anything to get richer, I can see that now."

  I knew in my heart that that wasn't true; Garth wasn't greedy, he was just strong and Jacques was weak. He would be a perfect fool not to buy Fournier land if it went up for sale, and Garth McClelland was no fool.

  Jacques shook his head. "Don't concern yourself with this, Elise. I have done the best I could. The land is used up, depleted, that's all. Father didn't leave enough to keep us going. Please don't—"

  "No. I will not allow him to take us over. Who is that big fellow over there, the one with the red scar on his throat?"

  "Oh, that's Amos. Some whites in Mississippi tried to lynch him. I got him cheap."

  I called the slave over. "Amos, Monsieur Jacques is going to sell off some of his land if we can't make a profit by next year. And he's going to sell you slaves, too. You know what that means?"

  The big man nodded. It meant separation, heartache, a journey to a new master and a new life that might be even more difficult than the old.

  "We are going to make you manager of La Rêve, Amos. We need to work longer and harder, all of us, but if we do make a profit on the crops, even this year, then I'll divide it with you. Half for the masters and half for the slaves. You can have it in cash, food, clothes, whatever you want. I'll do this every year, and eventually it will even be possible for you to buy your freedom. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

  "Elise!" Jacques gasped.

  "We are not going to sell to Garth McClelland!" I cried. "I'll do anything, anything to keep this land out of his hands. We can do it, Jacques, I know we can. We've got to!"

  Jacques dismissed Amos curtly and said through his teeth, "This has got to stop, Elise. You've taken over the house, and upset Maman terribly in the process, but I won't let you meddle in affairs that don't concern you."

  "They do concern me," I snapped. "I have no desire to be a pauper. And I have to get something out of this marriage, after all."

  He flushed. "I'll—I'll divorce you. You're going too far, Elise. I'll have the marriage annulled."

  "On what grounds, dear husband? Do you want me to tell the world the truth about you and Arnold Charpentier?"

  He gripped my shoulder. "That's a lie! A vicious lie!"

  "Is it?" I shrugged him off. "Then why haven't you touched me since our wedding night? Why do you blush and go pale at the mere mention of his name? I know love when I see it, Jacques. Love—or lust, it's the same thing."

  He slapped me sharply across the face. I pressed my hand to my burning cheek. I could feel loathing for him welling up inside me. He stared at me, his eyes burning. Then he lowered his head. "Forgive me, Elise. I—I didn't mean to do that."

  "Let me have my way, Jacques," I said evenly. "Let me try to save La Rêve. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain. And I won't interfere with your life. What you do is your business. Only let me run the plantation."

  "All right," he said sullenly. "But I don't think it will work."

  I worked from early morning until late at night, trying to salvage that year's cane crop and planning for the years to come. The fields that were under water half the year anyway I decided to put into rice. Amos and his men worked so hard at harvest time that even Jacques was forced to admit that he had never known the task to be completed so quickly and efficiently. I changed my plans about redecorating the drawing and dining rooms and cancelled my orders for new drapes and carpets throughout the house. I kept an even stricter eye on the household budget and ruthlessly eliminated waste wherever I found it. Uncle Robert had to go without his usual vast quantities of whiskey, the ladies made do with last year's gowns, and once the servants understood that thieving and pilfering might cost them dearly—in cash—they began to police each
other. The family chafed under my authoritarian rule, but by the end of the year 1812, La Rêve was less deeply in debt than any of the Fourniers would have dreamed possible.

  At Christmas Senator and Mrs. McClelland invited us to a ball at Highlands. It was the first and only invitation we had received since I came to La Rêve, and I knew that Garth was responsible. He was undoubtedly curious about Jacques and me, and since he had nothing to lose by associating with us he had pressed Georgette to invite us.

  I welcomed the opportunity to get away from the crushing responsibilities at La Rêve, even for one evening. I found myself looking forward to the ball as eagerly as if it were my first. I would not admit that I was excited by the prospect of seeing Garth after so many months, but I chose my gown and accessories with great care. Savannah and I finally decided on a sleek and simple gown of sheer ivory silk. The bodice was cut dangerously low, and the big puffed sleeves hung well off the shoulders. The skirt fit tightly across the front of my body and gathered into a graceful fullness at the back, allowing ample room to dance. At my neck I would wear only the string of pearls Lafitte had given me, and smaller pearls on my ears.

  When I came upstairs on the afternoon of the ball, I discovered that someone had slashed my beautiful gown to ribbons.

  "I never seen who it was, Missy," Savannah wailed. "I went downstairs to see about your bath, and I never even looked in your wardrobe until now. Oh, Missy, what are we goin' to do?"

  "It's all right, Savannah," I said quietly. "I have other gowns. I wonder if perhaps it wasn't modest enough for one of the older ladies in the house?"

  Except for Colette they all hated me. To them I was the interloper, a tyrant and a bully. And one of them had decided to exact this petty revenge. I threw open the doors of my wardrobe and contemplated its contents. "I want something sheer and indecent, like—like mosquito netting. Ah, here we are." I held up a sheer, flimsy gown of black pleated silk.

  "But—but that a nightie," Savannah giggled. "An' it's black!"